Stupid Boy
by Gabi217
Summary: They were in love... but not enough to conquer this on their own. When she left, he cried. Stupid boy. Added happier ending! [twopart]
1. The Beginning

****

Stupid Boy

Disclaimer: HP belongs to Jo and her boys. 'Stupid Boy' belongs to Keith Urban, that sexy man. I just own the sadness.

He watched her walk out with a frown on his face.

His brow furrowed deep as her suitcase scraped across the floor, her body oddly tilted at the weight of it.

His chest pulled, and his mind went blank.

She was leaving.

As she moved her things across the apartment, he thought back, silently, to the day that he met her, to the day that their relationship blossomed.

It was the day of his graduation. He remembered standing on the stage, in black robes with the knot of his school tie sticking out, choking him. The war was beginning, and he was confused. None of his family attended his last day of school. He had stood on the stage, alone, while everyone's mothers and fathers cried as their children walked; he took those few steps, following many much nicer students. When they called his name, she stood up and clapped.

Her parents were appalled, standing next to her. Her brother, standing further down the stage, turned a bright burgundy color, clutching Harry Potter's arm in a death grip.

Dumbledore had smiled That Smile and handed him his diploma, which only made her clap harder. When he had crossed the stage and turned back to the crowd, she was still standing, moving to the end of the row. With eager eyes, everyone watched as she ascended the steps in the warm May air and placed her hands on either side of his face, pressing warm lips against his. Following that act of rebellion, she had descended the steps again, grabbed her purse, and set off across the yard, took the trail around the lake, and went back into the castle until the graduation was over.

The year passed, and he woke every day thinking of that kiss. He thought of how cold her hands were against his cheeks, and how warm her lips were against his. When the war reached its climax point and there was a decline, it was those lips that kept him fighting to live, fighting everything he knew.

On the day of her graduation, he sat in the back. When she walked across the stage to get her diploma, he met her at the other side, and when she smiled that little smile, he thrust his hands into her scarlet curls and met her mouth with his, both of them grinning uncontrollably, unable to comprehend what was happening.

Out in the audience, her mother had laughed. Stupid boy.

This was the girl he had come to love. This was the woman he had laid his life down and fought for; this was the woman he had abandoned all rational thought to be with. She was the one that he woke to in the morning, and she was the last image in his mind at night.

She was graceful and beautiful, fragile and amazing. She always listened, and even when her backbone stuck up straight and she gave him that evil eye, he always managed to melt her, somehow.

They were together for a year when she became pregnant. He was amazed, dazed, and confused when she gave him the news: this would tie them together, forever. She had sat on her bed and cried, her eyes swollen and red, her face wet with tears.

It would end her life, this being. It would take away all her ambition.

It was all his fault.

She was depending on him to stay there. She was depending on him to be The One, The Father, The Dad. She had dreams to get married, to live a wonderful life and raise this beautiful child.

He had sat on the edge of their bed in the middle of the night, choking on his sobs.

He couldn't do this. It was too much. He wasn't raised to be a father so young - he still had two or three more years to discover and love and grow. He wasn't ready to grow up yet. He wasn't ready to father some kid's life; sure, he had the money, but he didn't have the passion for it. She was his first real taste of love. He wasn't sure if he could give it to someone else, as well.

He felt guilty for taking her life away from her, like this. She had so many dreams - she wanted to travel the world and do incredible things. She wanted to heal people and write books and see Muggle movies, and he had to be the one that sat her down and said, "No."

She always listened, even through her mood swings and downfalls. He was always right, to her, and she was always in the wrong. She never fought with him.

She grew and grew as the months passed, and he panicked more than he had ever had. He left in the middle of the night to see Blaise, and disappeared at odd times during the day because he couldn't stand those looks she would give him.

It was when he was too afraid to come back for a week that she made her decision.

The day he came back, she was folding blouses and baby jumpers, stacking them neatly in a wide black suitcase.

She smoothed down the piles, lips pursed calmly as he stood there, and continued with her packing, each item seemingly designated to a specific place.

"I love you," she said, straightening a pair of baby socks, nestling them next to hers. "I always will. I just want you to know that."

He didn't say a word as he watched her take items off the bed and fold them, placing them neatly in the bag. As calm as her words were, her hands were shaking.

"You aren't ready. Neither am I, but I don't have the heart to force you into something you don't want. You're too young for a child. I am, too, but I guess that's what mothers have to do, right? They have to make sacrifices, even early. Just like I have to sacrifice my life, and my love to carry on."

He felt his tears break his normally calm exterior, and she looked up at him and sighed, but didn't make a move to come near him.

"I don't want sympathy money. I don't want to be the charity case, because you and I both know that's how I was raised. Too poor and too proud. I can make a living on my own. I can raise this baby. It's all I have; it's all I will ever have," she murmured, running her hands over her stomach. His own hands were shaking, itching to grab her, but he made no move to do so.

"Ginny," he said, quietly, and his face screwed up in guilty tears. She shook her head.

"Don't be upset, Draco. I guess I was raised to be screwed over like this," she whispered, and then gave a short, mirthless laugh. "We both knew it, too."

At last, she snapped the suitcase closed, and levitated the two trunks of her belongings. She peered out the window; the Knight Bus idled at the curb. She didn't know how safe her journey would be, but she knew that she had to get away, so if this was the way to do it, then… that's what she was going to do.

As she dragged her suitcase across the bedroom floor, she stopped before him.

"You know I'll always love you. I'll always remember my graduation, because of you. And I'll always miss you."

She ran her hand down his cheek, her fingertips stopping at his jawbone. She leaned up, as much as she could with the baby between them, and pressed her lips to his. He kissed back, eagerly, in hopes to make her stay, to calm his roiling grief, but she gently pushed him away with her hands, shaking her head.

"This is our goodbye," she said.

When the door closed, he fell to his knees with his head in his hands.

She was gone. She had left him.

He had put her up to it, and she had finally grown a spine.

He had let her go.

As the Bus pulled away, with his love and his child aboard it, he cried into shaking palms, his mind reeling in an all-too-empty apartment. He could hear his mother's voice in his head.

Stupid boy.

__

Well, she was precious like a flower  
She grew wild, wild but innocent  
A perfect prayer in a desperate hour  
She was everything beautiful and different

Stupid boy, you can't fence that in  
Stupid boy, it's like holding back the wind  
She let her heart and soul right in your hands  
And you stole her every dream and you crushed her plans  
She never even knew she had a choice and that's what happens  
When the only voice she hears is telling her she can't  
Stupid boy, stupid boy  
Oh

So what made you think you could take a life  
And just push it push it around  
I guess you build yourself up so high  
You had to take her and break her down

She let her heart and soul right in your hands  
And you stole her every dream and you crushed her plans  
She never even knew she had a choice and that's what happens  
When the only voice she hears is telling her she can't  
You stupid boy

Oh, you always had to be right but now you've lost  
The only thing that ever made you feel alive  
Yeah, yeah

Well, she let her heart and soul right in your hands  
And you stole her every dream and you crushed her plans  
Yes, ya did  
She never even knew she had a choice and that's what happens  
When the only voice she hears is telling her she can't  
You stupid boy, oh, I'm the same old  
Same old stupid boy

It took awhile for her to figure out she could run  
But when she did, she was long gone  
Long gone, long gone  
Ah, she's gone

Nobody's ever gonna love me like she loved me  
And she loved me, she loved me  
God please, just let her know  
I'm sorry, I'm sorry  
I'm sorry, I'm sorry  
Baby, yeah, I'm down on my knees  
She's never coming back to me


	2. The End

Stupid Boy

Disclaimer: HP belongs to Jo and her boys.

I had to add a second part. The ending was… well… an end. xD

* * *

Italy was a bittersweet memory to him as he stepped out of the cab.

He vaguely recalled vacations to this tourist attraction with his parents, back when he was but an innocent child. His throat squeezed as he thought of this word.

That was exactly what he was there for.

He could still see her walking out the apartment door, leaving him for what she thought was the last time. It had taken him days, months, even, to acknowledge his mistake; he couldn't turn a corner without tricking himself into thinking he saw her. Even gone, she drove him insane. He could never touch another woman.

She had left him on a windy August afternoon, and he felt odd as he checked the years in his mind. It was July, now. He wondered what his child looked like and squeezed the handle of his suitcase tightly.

The cobblestone streets of Venice made his feet feel heavy and odd-shaped in his black shoes. His gray t-shirt clung to him in the sticky air, and he felt the sweat bead on his forehead. He reminded himself, for the final time, that this was what he wanted. No other way.

It had taken him weeks to realize that he loved her too much to let her take his life away. His work became boring and silly, and he missed her laughing face and her sparkling eyes. He hoped their child had the very same; he hoped it was the most beautiful being on the entire planet.

Now, as he crossed street after street and nodded at playing children, he only hoped she would still love him as much as she swore she did so long ago.

He followed the map idly, but came to the building more on instinct than direction. He raised his fist to knock, but hesitated; he knew that if he wanted to sweep her off her feet, like he had when he fell in love with her, it could only be by surprise.

The door was unsurprisingly unlocked when he turned the knob, and his raised hands were unneeded as there were no jinxes or charms guarding it. He ascended the apartment building's stairs and took a deep breath; cinnamon and vanilla. He was getting very close, and he could feel his mind thrumming with too many thoughts and questions.

Her door was at the end of the hallway, on the left. He stopped outside it, and set his bag down. He had crept down the hallway, stealthily and quiet, so as to not arouse suspicion from nearby nosy neighbors. Now he raised a palm to the door and pressed his ear against it, listening closely.

His lips turned in a forgotten smile as he heard the brief gibberish of a child on the other side. There was the low, female thrum of a mother's voice in return, and the child laughed. There was pattering, like bare feet against wood, that lead away from the door, and the heavy footsteps of a reprimanding mother followed. The room behind the door was empty. He walked in.

The living room was rather nice for a single mother and her child. There were toys strewn across the wooden floor, over a plush black rug. The walls were a deep green, the couches an off-white color, very wide and comfortable-looking. There was a glass coffee table that had been pushed aside to make room for a playing child, and there were many candles scattered across the room, a box of opened matches laying next to one.

He turned his head, taking it in. There was a hall that lead to what he suspected to be bedrooms and a bathroom, and a kitchen in the corner. Bread dough was laying in a clear glass bowl on the counter, with a dishtowel over it. Letting his curiosity get the best of himself, he lifted the edge of the towel and took a breath. Cinnamon bread. He never realized how much he missed it.

He could hear her scolding a child in a room down the hall, and silently made his way to the couch in the corner. After a moment of sitting there, alone, a young child, a boy, came sauntering back in wearing black shorts, sandals, and a white shirt. His hair came to his ears in little blonde tufts, and his eyes, hiding beneath shy, pale lashes, were the same dark mercury his had become. The boy lifted himself onto the couch next to him, a model plane in his hands, and looked up at the man beside him.

"You look just like me," the very small boy managed, very matter-of-factly, and Draco's lips lifted as his eyes welled. This was his son - this was his brilliant son.

"Well, that is because I am your daddy."

The boy blinked and smirked, turning his face back to his airplane.

"Mommy says my daddy was a coward."

A voice that made Draco's heart shatter into pieces and run through his body advanced down the hallway, shaking with her steps.

"Daddy abandoned mommy when he needed her most," she agreed, not even looking at her son, instead turning right into the kitchen to check on her bread.

"Yup," the little boy agreed, grinning at his mother's back.

"Or maybe it was," Draco began shakily, "that she left him when he needed her most… they just never realized it."

The bowl she had been carrying to an opposite counter slid out of her fingers and hit the floor, sending the dough flying. Trembling hands covered an 'o' shaped mouth, and a very shocked Ginny Weasley turned to meet the eyes of her son's father.

He stood, slowly, and advanced toward her, hands outstretched.

"Let me talk first," he said quickly, staring at her. She made no move to speak or push him away, only staring at him with rapidly tear-filling eyes.

"When you - when you left, I underestimated how long it would take for me to get my life back," he began lamely, and a jagged anger surfaced in her eyes. He scrambled to make his peace. "But! But, Ginny, I realized that I didn't really have that much of a life without you. I thought about that kiss - remember that kiss you gave me, when I graduated? - I thought about that kiss every morning, every afternoon, every evening… I thought about your lips when I looked at every other woman, and I grieved for you, somewhere, desperately alone, raising a little boy I wasn't prepared for."

She continued to stare at him, eyes wide and round, now red and leaking tears.

He extended his hands toward her, fingers outstretched and wide, desperate.

"I realized that there was a woman I had let down, somewhere on this planet, raising a little boy that I should've been there for. I wanted her back, so much… I loved her, so terribly, and she left me because I was so very stupid."

Ginny's lips twisted and turned, from a frown to a very watered down smile. She vaguely remembered her mother's utterance at her graduation. 'Stupid boy,' she had said, and she had heartily agreed. Perhaps until now.

Draco's voice began to crack as he attempted to patch up the past, delving into his pockets. He fell to his knees before her, holding his hands up in a mock-prayer.

"If there was any woman I had ever loved as much as you, she could never stand up to you. You're the only one I want, Ginny. I've already missed so much of your life, of our life, of his life. I don't want to miss anymore. I want to marry you and grow old next to you and raise this little boy until he becomes a man and makes the same mistakes."

She stared at him, dropping her hands as she smiled down at him. Tentatively, as if afraid to scare him away, she let her hand run through his blonde locks, gently massaging his scalp.

"And when he does, I will beat him over the head with a wooden spoon, and make him chase after her," she whispered, her face scrunching up in a mess of smiles and tears.

"Ginny, I want you to marry me. I want to raise this boy - this boy I don't even know! - and I want to love you until the day I die, knowing I did do everything in my power to make you happy."

She brushed his hair back from his forehead, gazing down at him.

"His name is Stefan, he has just turned two years old, and he is in great need of a father to help him do those boyish things that mummies don't do," she informed him. "His favorite color is green. He has never met his grandmother on his father's side, and he loves Muggle things."

Draco's face twisted unsurely at this.

"But he's magic," she whispered with a twinkle in her eye. "He's very much like his father, especially when he pouts. He is a sucker for sweets and lullabies. And most of all, he needs both of us."

With that, she leaned down, slowly, and pressed her lips to his, cupping his wet face with her fragile hands. Then they were both kneeling before each other, arms tangled and mouths kissing every inch of skin. It was only a miracle that she loved him so much to take him back without having a hesitant thought.

She could see her mother's face at the shock, and could read Draco's mind. As she ran her hands through his hair and dusted her fingers along his shoulder, she laughed softly and said, "Stupid boy."

He had never heard it whispered so lovingly from any other person's mouth.

Moments passed. Finally, Stefan scooted himself off the couch and approached them, tugging his father's shirt.

"Daddy, can I _please_ play with the candles?" he whined, pushing his lower lip out in a pout. Holding Ginny's newly-ringed hand, he laughed.

"Does that mean yes?" the little boy asked, excitedly bouncing from foot to foot.

His parents both turned their faces toward their son, frowning.

"No."

And that was that.


End file.
